Poetry, when is it, and how does the author describe it?

Life is just garlic and wild onions scattered with soil.

This is a twine rubbed in water.

The daytime is 4,000 silent nights.

It's the sound of a donkey hitting a bucket.

It was a rainy day when the poplars creaked.

Open and close my tired dreams.

Life is an apricot in your mouth, which can quench your thirst.

This is a silhouette of a man carrying wheat in the hot sun of a mountain garden.

The sky is an umbrella-like shade.

Climb from my sore arm to the ground.

Day is a pitcher for storing sweet thoughts.

Sweat and tears poured out and choked my throat.